


The Blues

by you_know



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 19:11:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5217455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_know/pseuds/you_know
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's a little sex, drugs, and cash between friends?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Lene ([fictionkin.tumblr.com](fictionkin.tumblr.com)) for letting me take her headcanon au about Geoff as a coke dealer and completely run with it -- plus playing around with me for a few days and adding more and more onto it! (Cheers.)

Gavin is the only person who treats Geoff decently that Geoff finds himself able to tolerate for very long.

It’s a flaw -- of _course_ it’s a flaw -- that Geoff can’t get it up for anyone who shows him any level of basic human kindness.

(Except Gavin). 

He’s tried, of course. Geoff’s in his mid-30s, and he’s sat through his fair share ( _more_ than his fair share, probably) of relationships with human beings who respected him. Or admired him. Who wanted him for more than a quick romp and easy access to drugs and money. 

Hell, Geoff even made it eight years deep that one time -- really thought that one might work out. Really got comfortable with the idea of someone warm waiting back at his condo, someone who knew things about him. Who could be allowed to help him make decisions. But in the end she wanted more from him -- wanted him to live a long life and get old and fat, wanted him to stop taking risks. 

Wanted to know -- demanded to know -- when he’d stop selling coke and what his endgame was.

“We’re both shitty people,” Geoff tells his friends now when they ask. “Gavin is a bad person. I’m a bad person. That’s why we get along.” 

Gavin likes him and treats him well and he anticipates Geoff’s needs -- and he never, ever implies that he’d like it if Geoff would go exclusive with him, that he’d prefer it if Geoff had some sort of exit strategy planned out.

Six months ago they separated abruptly, panting and naked in Gavin’s dump of an old apartment and Geoff had turned to the younger man. 

“Do you want more outta this?” Geoff had asked, staring at the ceiling. 

Gavin hadn’t responded at first -- just looked at Geoff with an incredulous expression. 

“What, like… more money?” Gavin had asked. 

“No -- I mean, if you want more money, you can tell me,” Geoff had said. “But more from _me_.” 

“Like us exclusive?” Gavina asked.

Geoff nodded. 

“Hell no,” Gavin had said with a laugh, without missing a beat. “I can’t take that kind of pressure. Please, Geoff. Don’t get like this.”

And Geoff had laughed too then, and vowed to find a better apartment for Gavin. He’d moved the boy closer to his own Austin condo the week after -- but had never asked that Gavin stop taking calls. 

\---

It’s a gray day in Austin -- and a weekday, now that Geoff actually thinks about it for a minute -- and so the upscale outdoor mall is largely deserted. 

Gavin’s supposed to meet him at the usual place sometime halfway in between the lunch and dinner hour. Geoff likes the restaurant because it’s dark as hell inside and it’s the only place on the sprawling mall property that has a halfway decent selection of liquor. Gavin likes it because it’s overpriced and situated on the end of the mall that’s surrounded by the most expensive shops.

Geoff’s onto his second old fashioned when Gavin slides into the booth next to him, jostling him a little bit. 

“Those new?” he asks by way of hello. “You look like a knob.” 

Gavin is already sipping from his glass before Geoff can respond.

“What new?” 

“The sunglasses,” Gavin says, snorting a laugh. He holds out the drink and looks at it. “How many of these have you had?” 

Geoff hadn’t realized he still had the cheap pink sunglasses down over his eyes, and he props them to the top of his head. 

“Not enough to take lip from you,” Geoff says, raising an eyebrow and grabbing his drink back. He hips against Gavin. “Get on the other side.” 

“Geoff, I’m hurt,” Gavin says, scooting closer, snaking a hand across Geoff’s thigh under the table, letting it trail between his legs. 

“I can’t see you if you sit on this side, moron,” Geoff says, letting out a sigh at the contact in spite of himself. “And I’m going to fuck my neck up if I have to keep turning to look at you.” 

Gavin stops protesting then -- puffing a little bit under the admission that Geoff wants a better look at him -- and he slips to the other side of the table. It’s a good choice. Geoff lets his eyes slide over the kid’s body as Gavin shakes his head and leans eager over the table, propping his elbows up and grinning. He’s got on the most expensive plain t-shirt Geoff’s ever bought (though perhaps not the most expensive plain t-shirt that Gavin owns), the deep-v of the designer-frayed neckline dipping to graze the cleft of Gavin’s chest. He fiddles with the expensive smartwatch at his wrist (another gift) but doesn’t look down at it, too intent on watching Geoff watch him. 

Geoff smirks and sighs through his nose.

“Better,” Geoff says. 

“Let me see these,” Gavin says, standing a little, leaning forward to snatch the glasses off of Geoff’s head. 

“Hey -- watch it,” Geoff says, a little fonder than he means to. 

“Ridiculous,” Gavin says, putting them on his own face and fishing the phone out of his pocket. He flicks the phone open and taps on the front-facing camera. Geoff looks on as Gavin snaps a few pictures of himself grimacing in the glasses. When he’s satisfied, Gavin tucks the folded glasses into the neck of his shirt (tugging the material even lower) and starts tapping away at the phone. 

“These look much better on me,” Gavin says, not looking up. “We’ll see what Twitter thinks.”

“Most things do,” Geoff points out. 

Gavin doesn’t move but he smiles and peeks up from the phone. “Did you order?”

“No -- I was waiting for your late ass,” Geoff says. 

“Where on _earth_ is your waitress, then?” 

And of course the server walks up in time to hear Gavin. Geoff kicks him lightly under table.

“Sorry, love,” Gavin says immediately, beaming up at the woman. Her frown melts, and as Gavin orders, Geoff makes a mental bet with himself about whether or not she’ll be slipping Gavin her number by the time the meal is over. 

The cocktails have Geoff riding a nice buzz, but they also have his internal compass arrow quivering from “up” to “down” -- and now that Gavin’s here, the last thing he wants to feel is _sleepy._

“I’ll be right back,” Geoff says.

“What -- now? I just got here,” Gavin says, letting his phone drop an inch or so to clatter abruptly on the table. 

“Yeah, _now_ ,” Geoff says, raising an eyebrow. “Bathroom.” 

Gavin frowns because he knows exactly what that means and he hates being left out. 

“Come on,” Gavin says, pouting. “Just do it here.” 

“We’re at a J. Alexanders in fucking Austin -- not an LA nightclub at midnight,” Geoff snarls. 

“Nobody cares,” Gavin says. 

“I care,” Geoff says. 

“Please, Geoff,” Gavin says, tilting his head back, letting his posture fall. 

“You’re fucking impossible,” Geoff says, already sucking his teeth silently as he fumbles with the little bag in his pocket, sitting awkwardly in the booth. He’s tapping a bump by feeling only into the heel of his open hand when the server returns with a round of drinks -- and Geoff can’t decide if the dirty look she gives him is because she just _knows_ somehow or if she’s upset she can’t corner Gavin alone to chat him up. 

“ _See_?” Geoff says the minute she’s out of earshot. 

“What? See what? What’s she gonna do?” Gavin wants to know. “You could do a line off the menu -- who’s gonna say anything?”

Geoff hitches an eyebrow at him.

“Maybe you can get away with shit like that,” Geoff says, holding his hand still under the table. “Not all of us have good looks and a kitschy accent to fall back on.” 

Geoff turns to the inside wall of the booth, hunching his shoulders and trying to be inconspicuous about lifting his goddamned palm to his face.

“You’re too hard on yourself, y’know,” Gavin says, smiling at him. “I mean, you make the whole unwashed coke dealer thing work for you.” 

Geoff almost has to abort the whole mission, half-choking on the quick snort as he almost laughs at the statement.

“You’re an asshole,” Geoff says once he’d recovered, blinking and sniffing hard and dragging the heel of his hand against his nose in a way he hopes it’s horribly obvious. 

“You’ve got a little…” and Gavin taps the side of his nose conspicuously.

“No I don’t,” Geoff says -- and _Christ that’s better_ , he thinks as his brain seems to almost instantly buzz back to life. Gavin laughs, knowing Geoff never falls for the same stupid joke. Geoff cracks his neck and grabs the fresh drink. 

“So,” Geoff says. “Where are we headed to after this?”  

\---

By the time they make it out into the mall proper, Gavin’s hit a nice buzz -- and between the enormous Redbull he’d pounded to get awake enough to show up to lunch, the cocktails he’d downed in quick succession on a mostly empty stomach, and the fact that he knows Geoff’s about to drop a hell of a lot of cash for him, Gavin can’t remember a feeling that’s much nicer than this. 

It’s intoxicating to see what he can goad Geoff into doing -- not because it’s fun to manipulate someone but because watching Geoff hem and haw before he makes a bad decision is simply the best thing on earth. And they’re very, very good at making bad decisions together. 

It’s gotten colder since Gavin had swooped into the dark restaurant, and the wind plucks at his clothes as they make their way towards the first destination: a high-end department store. 

Gavin leans into Geoff as they walk, rubbing his own arms. 

“You want my jacket?” Geoff offers.

“Nah, we’re almost there,” Gavin says. 

“I’d tell you to wear more clothes but we both know that’s not a goal of mine,” Geoff says. Gavin smirks at him, and Geoff chuckles deep in his chest as he dips a cold hand into the back of Gavin’s pants. Gavin squawks and trots a few feet ahead of him. 

“Bastard,” Gavin says. “Forget you, then.” He skips ahead and pushes into the department store, tuning to watch Geoff walk the last few feet. The man had perked up over lunch -- and the bump Gavin had talked him into certainly hadn’t hurt. The more amped up Geoff gets, the handsier he gets and the easier it is to convince him to do whatever stupid thing Gavin suggests -- whether it’s buying them matching $2,000 cashmere sweatpants or road head in gridlock traffic or attempting parkour in the parking lot. 

That’s part of what he likes about Geoff, Gavin thinks as he watches the man approach, looking surly as he frowns and paces, hands stuffed down into the pockets of his distressed leather jacket, sunglasses on even though it’s overcast. Geoff never takes himself too seriously to have fun. Even when he balks at Gavin’s suggestions, Gavin can see the cogs turning in his mind as Geoff reasons out whatever bad decision he is about to make. 

Gavin’s digging in his pocket when Geoff finally pushes in the door after him.

“D’you wanna xanax?” Gavin offers, feeling several that he’d forgotten about tossing into this pair of pants. 

“Not unless you’ve got a hell of a lot of some upper to give me too,” Geoff says. “Shit puts me to sleep.” 

“Suit yourself,” Gavin says, shrugging. He doesn’t share the same concern and he thumbs the bitter tablet into his mouth to let it dissolve. “Let’s work on your sunglasses situation.” 

He leads Geoff towards the department with watches and sunglasses. 

“You just want me to get new ones so you can have these,” Geoff protests. 

“Yeah?” Gavin says, peering over his shoulder and smiling. “And?” 

“Just take these,” Geoff says. “I don’t need more sunglasses.” 

“That’s not fun at all,” Gavin says, stopping in the aisle -- they’re somewhere in the perfume and cosmetics, and he leans back against a glass counter. 

“I’m not here to buy shit for me,” Geoff says. “Let me buy you a jacket or something. Some $400 boxers you can ruin.” 

He sidles up to Gavin, hands still crammed in his pockets, and Gavin does a quick calculation about how much of a public display of affection Geoff might allow. Gavin bumps his hip and decides to wait until they have more cover. 

\---

Geoff follows Gavin past an escalator, the kid practically bouncing at the thought of whatever it is he’s going to get Geoff to buy. 

“Men’s stuff is upstairs,” Geoff says, quickening his pace to keep up with Gavin. 

“Yeah, that’s where we’re going,” Gavin says. 

“You missed the escalator, buddy.” 

“We’re taking the elevator,” Gavin says -- and it’s just a few more steps until they’re there and Gavin is pulling him by the collar into the small mirrored elevator, into a kiss -- and Geoff is muttering a hurried “Christ, hang on!” as he reaches to hit the “CLOSE DOORS” button behind them. 

He leans on the button as Gavin leans him into the wall, warm and kissing into him, pulling him hard by the collar. Geoff is overwhelmed by the warmth of Gavin’s mouth, by the bitter flavor of the pill Gavin had swallowed, by the slightly swimming quality of his own head as he waits for the elevator to throttle into motion, boozy and almost instantly needing more of this. He slips hands around Gavin’s waist as they kiss, appreciating how slender Gavin feels in between his hands, sliding his palms down to rest at Gavin’s hips, slipping thumbs down into Gavin’s pants to press against his hip bones. Gavin responds immediately, grinding into him, pressing him harder into the elevator wall.

They kiss for far too long, until they’re both half hard and breathing loud, and Geoff realizes with a jolt that the door hasn’t opened yet. His buzz is too strong (and he’s been too distracted) to tell if they even started moving. So he breaks the kiss with a soft “fuck” -- holding Gavin by the chin and pushing him softly away. The kid grins at him open-mouthed. 

“What’s wrong?” Gavin asks. 

“You taste like xanax,” Geoff says -- and he peers at the buttons. “And I don’t think we’re moving..”  

Geoff realizes that he hadn’t even pressed the button for the second floor after closing the door behind him. 

“We could just stay in here, y’know,” Gavin offers, palming Geoff through his jeans. Geoff sneers at him. 

“Yeah, I’ll get your pants around your ankles and then some grandma in a wheelchair is gonna come press the button and the doors’ll fly open,” Geoff says. He punches the button for the second floor. 

“Fine,” Gavin says, pouting a little. He doesn’t move to resume the kiss -- as if to teach Geoff a lesson -- and slumps against the back of the elevator. 

\---

Geoff has parked himself in a leather armchair in the fitting room, waiting on Gavin to work through all the shit that he’s picked out to try on. The items Gavin has selected range from a horrible $200 t-shirt with an ugly man on it that looks like a second grade craft project to a pair of distressed, stained jeans with a pricetag that’s pushing a grand. Gavin has assured him that both are, in fact, the height of fashion. Despite how… utterly horrible they are.

He’s picked out a few nice things too, of course -- a teal leather bomber jacket that Geoff has already decided he’s going to buy for Gavin and make him wear out of the store, some stupid dress shirt with bees on it that Geoff finds too adorable to pass up -- but the kid’s sense of style does tend to lean towards the ironic whenever Geoff is picking up the tab.

And when they’re together, Geoff is always picking up the tab.

“Still doing alright?” the attendant asks Geoff, poking his head around the corner.

“Yeah, we’re good, man,” Geoff says. 

“Can I get you a bottle of water?” the man asks, turning the corner and approaching him anyway. “A glass of wine?” 

“Sure -- I’ll take a glass,” Geoff says, smiling. 

“Champagne for me, if you’ve got it on hand, chummy,” Gavin adds through the closed fitting room door.

“Yeah -- that sounds good,” Geoff says. “Change mine to that.” 

The man nods and turns on his heel to fetch their drinks.

When Geoff had first started bringing Gavin around to indulge him, the staff hadn’t exactly been friendly. Geoff can’t blame them: most people don’t look him up and down and immediately think that his appearance screams _disposable income_ (and Geoff is the first to admit that looking like shit is kinda his thing). But it had only taken a few visits before they recognized Geoff and his tattoos and the British guy in tow, remembering the packages they’d walked out carrying the last time. 

The staff treats them like royalty now. 

“Did you… did you say _chummy_ a second ago or am I _really_ a lot drunker than I realized?” Geoff says, coming back to himself.

“What? You don’t have to make fun,” Gavin says, feigning hurt. 

When the attendant returns, Geoff stands to take both glass flutes from him. The guy reminds him that Geoff can come get him if they need anything else and Geoff reassures him that they’re fine -- wanting nothing more than to tell the guy to fuck off for a little while.

Geoff sidles up to the door and drains half of his champagne easily. It burns his nose, but the quick rush of a renewed buzz is worth it. The department store is almost sickeningly bright -- the type of harsh light that leaves you squinting and feeling paranoid even when stone cold sober -- and Geoff is glad that they’ve made it back to the dim, more private dressing room where the buzz can flood back through him like a current of warm, soothing water.

“Lemme in,” he says before taking another long draw of the champagne.

“I’m not decent, Geoff,” Gavin says -- and Geoff can tell he’s smiling just from his voice. 

“Yeah, that’s the point, dipshit,” Geoff says. 

When Gavin cracks the door to let him in, the fitting room is a wreck -- clothes strewn on the floor, on a large ottoman propped up against a floor-to-ceiling mirror, hung on hooks on the walls. And in the center of it all is Gavin holding out a hand to receive his champagne, barefoot and bare-chested with Hermès boxers slung low across the lean V of his hips.

Geoff closes the distance between them quickly, withholding the champagne until the last possible second when he presses it into Gavin’s palm even as he walks Gavin back a few paces -- and Gavin hisses as his bare shoulders touch the cold mirror behind him, Geoff leaning in to kiss him. 

Gavin breaks the kiss quickly to smile and sip his champagne, still pretending to pout after the elevator, maybe. Geoff doesn’t back up but drains the last of his glass before setting it into the corner of the fitting room. He’s back to the dull, drunk thrum he had when Gavin showed up to the restaurant -- and now he’s out of coke to counteract it -- but he’s content to just be here. 

_ More than content _ , he thinks, admiring Gavin’s tan and the hard, spare muscles of his torso, trying to ignore his own sleepy expression reflected in the mirror over Gavin’s shoulder.

“So,” he says, sidling back up to Gavin and placing a steadying palm against the mirror behind him. “What am I buying you today?” 

The question is moot because Gavin gulps the champagne and kisses Geoff hard without bothering to answer. There’s no holding back now -- not with Gavin nearly naked and the relative privacy of the dressing room. Not with Gavin letting his empty flute fall to the plush rug, with his hands pressed under Geoff’s shirt, palms and fingertips roving over his skin slowly. 

The xanax must’ve kicked in for him, Geoff realizes, because he’s dropped into the characteristic slowness, the unhurried softness -- all trailing fingers and light, long touches and open, warm mouth. The kid’s perfect like this: slowed down and chuckling, yielding and slowly grinding up off of the mirror and against Geoff’s hips. Gavin could probably get off just like this, Geoff thinks, grinning through the kiss at the thought of him cumming in several hundred dollars worth of ridiculous luxury underwear. 

And for a minute, Geoff assumes that’s the plan and just lets Gavin do it -- Geoff holding him by the slender hips, appreciating how slight and warm and perfectly tawny he is, dragging a hand against the hollow spot at the small of Gavin’s back, not terribly worried about his own erection straining now against his jeans as Gavin strokes his hips against Geoff, slips hands into the back of his jeans to palm his ass. But after minutes that feel like they stretch and stretch in the dim room, Gavin breaks off abruptly and spins -- pawing through the pile of clothes. 

“What’s wrong?” Geoff says with a sigh. 

“Nothing’s wrong, is it?” Gavin says, a little snippy. “We’re grand, I think. I have a surprise.” 

Finally Gavin locates his pants and digs a hand down into one pocket. He fumbles with something small before producing two plastic rectangles. Beaming, he holds them out to Geoff. 

It’s a tiny package of lube. And a tiny bag of coke. 

“Gavin, I think I’m in love with you.” 

\---

Gavin is astonished that he doesn’t have to bully and cajole Geoff into sex in a fitting room. 

He’d say that this takes some of the fun out of it, but he’s too busy enjoying being propped up against a heavy mirror with one tattooed hand and being fucked open with the other.

Gavin watches Geoff’s expression over his shoulder in the mirror -- the satisfied look that slides across Geoff’s face, the absentminded smile as he watches his hand work between their two bodies. The air of the department store is chilly, but it just makes the hands on Gavin feel that much better as the xanax slows down his mind enough to really enjoy the sensation of Geoff holding him up by the hip, of the thick finger sliding into him gently but purposefully. 

Gavin doesn’t push the pace or fuck back onto his hand -- he just hums and lets it happen and watches the two of them in the mirror. Geoff catches his eyes in the mirror after a minute, smiling at Gavin before laying a kiss against the spot where Gavin’s neck meets his body. Geoff’s breath and mouth are warm on his skin, a few days’ growth of stubble scratching a little, and the sensations seem to bounce around the nerves in Gavin’s body as Geoff eases in another finger, stretching him. Gavin realizes they’re swaying together -- not to the bland music being piped into the fitting room but to some unheard rhythm that bubbles up between them. 

\---

Geoff didn’t expect to go from zero to 60 quite this fast, but now that sex is on the menu, he’s _aching_ for Gavin. And what a treat. The kid thinks of everything. Geoff’s mind wanders a little as he works Gavin open, flitting around and touching briefly on the other times Gavin has anticipated his needs long before Geoff even understood them. Days when Geoff’s woken up in a haze to Gavin pressing a freezing cold bottle of beer into his palm. Perfect mix CDs for every occasion. A little flask of his favorite bourbon tucked into the back of his jeans as Geoff makes his way out the door. An elaborate crawl through every one of Geoff’s favorite restaurants and bars on Geoff’s birthday, planned by the kid from brunch to sunrise the next day. 

_ I should buy Gavin a boat,  _ he thinks, not sure where the thought comes from but not disagreeing with the impulse.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Gavin says, breathing harder and finally starting to work his hips back against Geoff’s hand. The need in Gavin’s voice is enough to bring him back to himself, and Geoff moves now, pulling back to finally unbuckle his pants, letting the jeans fall past his ass and pushing his boxer briefs out of the way. His cock is heavy and neglected, and when he pulls Gavin back a few inches, Gavin grinds his ass against Geoff for a few breathtaking beats and Geoff lets his head roll back while he enjoys the sensation.

After a moment, though, he steps back and grabs the little packet of lube off of the ottoman, slicking his already wet hand and pulling a few tugs down the length of his cock, twisting over the head even as his own hips stutter at the stimulation. 

He sees Gavin use the lull to grab the little bag of coke, but he doesn’t move to find a surface or tap any out on his own hand. _Maybe later,_ Geoff thinks.

“You ready?” Geoff asks, stepping forward. 

“Was ready five minutes ago,” Gavin says, smiling. “I was hardly gonna ask you to speed up, though.” 

They make eye contact in the mirror for a moment -- and there’s that electricity that sparks between them, knowing they’re doing something dumb and enjoying it so very much. Geoff moves to line himself up and Gavin shifts to put a knee on the ottoman and all at once Gavin is pressing back and Geoff is easing in and even though they’re only afforded a little bit of privacy by the fitting room door, they’re both groaning audibly at the feeling. 

\---

Gavin relaxes completely, arching his back a little bit as he feels Geoff’s hips come to meet his ass. Geoff stoops and fits his body up against Gavin’s for a moment, his soft shirt warm against the skin of Gavin’s back -- and Geoff reaches to circle his arms around Gavin, content to just grind a little, to squeeze Gavin across the chest as Gavin adjusts and breathes. 

Finally Gavin catches his eyes in the mirror and he barely nods, almost imperceptible -- and Geoff’s eyelids flutter a little as he pulls back, taking the hint and moving to hold Gavin by the waist. He starts to rock into Gavin, just small strokes, not moving too much, trying to determine exactly how much they can get away with in terms of noise and wrecking the fitting room.

“God Geoff,” Gavin says softly, a little overwhelmed at the new stimulation. “Jesus.” 

He lets his body fall a little, bending over more and digging his knee into the pile of clothes on the ottoman -- and now he can see more of Geoff in the mirror, the open-mouthed expression of awe on his face as Geoff tilts his head back a few degrees and starts to fuck him more vigorously. 

Gavin can tell, though, that he’s being careful not to let the contact between their bodies make a sound, even as he builds a steady rhythm of long strokes into Gavin. He’s biting his lower lip -- maybe in concentration or maybe just to keep from letting loose the moans building in his chest.

“C’mon,” Gavin urges him softly. “Nobody’s gonna hear you. I can’t take it all quiet like this.” 

Geoff snorts a little and smiles at him in the mirror. 

“Looks to me like you’re _taking it_ just fine, buddy,” Geoff says. 

Gavin grins at him, glad Geoff’s got his eyes open again -- and he watches Geoff watching himself in the mirror. He wishes Geoff were naked -- that’d make the mirror part more fun for both parties, Gavin thinks -- but maybe another time. They look _very good_ fucking each other, Gavin thinks, admiring himself in the mirror, torn between looking at his own body and watching Geoff -- and the feedback loop of arousal builds with the feeling of Geoff fucking a little harder into him, the man’s hands on his waist, the cold air on his skin, and the little noises Geoff is finally allowing himself to make now.

\---

Geoff wishes they could keep at this endlessly in the dim light, Gavin with his hands pressed up against the mirror, his soft skin under Geoff’s hands, Gavin tight and hot and responsive under him -- but they’re in a damned department store and it _is_ sort of a timed event. He can feel his orgasm start to coil tight in his groin, and normally that would be his signal to slow down or change positions. Now, though, in the far-too-quiet fitting room, it means he needs to start making sure Gavin gets off. So he bends over Gavin again, snaking a hand around him and sliding a palm down the length of Gavin’s cock.

“Fuck,” Gavin breathes out quietly. And then: “Wait, _fuck,_ wait! I almost forgot.” 

Geoff slows as Gavin starts to move under him, and Geoff can’t see what he’s doing in the mirror -- but after a second, Gavin is reaching over his own shoulder, his hand in an almost-thumbs up. He’s slow and careful and Geoff instantly sees why: he’s tapped out a generous bump onto the pad of his thumb. 

“Mmm,” Geoff hums as he takes Gavin gently by the wrist. “You are _incredible._ ” 

Geoff bottoms out, working his hips against Gavin’s ass as he snorts it fast and hard -- and now it’s as if the orgasm building in his balls is in every part of Geoff as he feels the coke light up his nerves in a wave of pleasure, radiating down from his skull until he can feel the beginning of the orgasm in his fingertips, his toes, the skin at the back of his neck.

“ _Jesus,_ you’re amazing,” Geoff says, a little too loud, and he watches Gavin beam. He realizes that he’s snapping his hips into Gavin hard now and he knows that the obscene sound of their bodies working together has got to be audible outside the door of the fitting room -- but he also realizes immediately that he’s entirely too fucked up to care. The rhythm and pleasure as he fucks into Gavin is worth the risk.

\---

This is what Gavin had been waiting for and he works his hips back to meet Geoff’s movements. After a moment, Geoff is leaning on him again, reaching around to twist down the length of his cock -- and Gavin is torn between the two sensations, between wanting to fuck back onto Geoff and forward into his hand. It’s not going to take much, he knows, with Geoff pressing into his prostate with each hard rock of his hips and working his hand up and down Gavin’s cock in time with his own thrusts. 

“Fuck, I’m going to --” Gavin starts, and he doesn’t even finish the warning, letting the pleasure of the moment wash over him as he reaches the point of no return and feels the orgasm hot and radiating outward from his groin. He can feel Geoff twitching, hitching up the pace, and Gavin knows he’s about to cum, too.

There’s a crisp knock on the door of the fitting room.

Geoff bites his lip hard over an improbably high whimper and goes completely still. 

“Can I get you any other sizes, sir?” the fitting room attendant says in a neutral tone from the other side of the door. “Another glass of champagne?” 

Geoff may have stopped moving, but Gavin isn’t about to let this interrupt his orgasm, and he laughs a little as he fucks down into Geoff’s palm. Geoff snaps a hand over Gavin’s mouth, but seems to come back to himself, stroking Gavin again and shuddering a little as Gavin grinds backwards onto his cock.

“We’re great,” Geoff says, sounding more than a little strained. “Thanks!” 

His voice cracks in the middle of the word and Gavin laughs hard against his palm. 

Geoff strokes Gavin through his orgasm, Gavin’s body shaking and throbbing and clenching around Geoff as they both listen to the man walk away from the door -- and as soon as he’s out of earshot, Geoff lets out a sustained and whining “fuuuck” before rocking furiously into Gavin, as if he’d been only just barely holding himself back from cumming into Gavin with the stranger right on the other side of the door -- and as Gavin is starting to come down from his own orgasm, he watches Geoff in the mirror with his eyebrows knit as he takes Gavin by the hips and lays desperate strokes into him, as if Gavin’s ass is the only thing left tethering him to reality as he trembles and repeats a staccato, hoarse “fuck fuck fuck Gavin fuck” and cums so hard into Gavin that he can feel it, squeaking a little in spite of himself at the increased fullness. 

Geoff goes slack on top of him, careful not to put too much weight onto Gavin but only barely able to keep standing. 

“Think he heard us?” Gavin asks after a moment, grinning. 

“Who the fuck cares,” Geoff says through a sigh. 

“You’re great when you stop giving a shit,” Gavin says, meeting his eyes in the mirror. 

“Hm,” Geoff says, mustering up the strength to rise up a bit, stroking a hand gently down the center of Gavin’s back. “You’re great all the time.” 

Slowly, they disengage. Geoff is quick to tuck himself back into his clothes, pulling up his belt and jeans and looking even more handsomely disheveled than he did when he entered the dressing room. He finds Gavin’s boxers and holds them out to him. Gavin takes them, laughing hard now.

“What’s funny?” Geoff asks. 

Gavin holds up a pair of jeans from the ottoman to show him. 

“I came on these,” Gavin says.

“Oh my God,” Geoff says, taking the jeans from him and holding them up. They’re stained and discolored elaborately with paint and bleach and -- now, at least -- Gavin’s jizz. “Christ, you can’t even tell. Shit. Should we buy these?”

“Nah, they looked awful on me,” Gavin says, waving him off. “Just hang ‘em back up.” 

Gavin snickers as Geoff does just that, neatly clipping the thousand-dollar jeans back onto the hanger. 

 


End file.
